TICK TOCK
by whatapotter
Summary: One day, 24 hours, 720 minutes, 43200 seconds. One day, within which the fate of the Wizarding World will be decided. One day. A final battle fic, written in style of '24'. Join our hero's as they struggle to save their world and defeat YouKnowWho!
1. Chapter 1

** 06:00:00 AM GMT**

"Well?" a chilling voice enquired, the sound reverberating in a frosted ice dance around the corners of the room. It skimmed and sashayed, teasing the pot-bellied shadows that lounged lazily around.

A man kneeled, shaking, on the floor. "T-t-here were s-some difficulties, m-my lord."

The petrified admission crawled its way to a seated man, if such a thing could ever be called man. He sat rigidly on a throne carved with snakes, the eyes of which seemed to follow the kneeling man like Judge, Jury and Executioner, proclaiming his imminent demise and laughing with mirth at it.

"What difficulties?" the sibilant hiss escaped, in a rasp of breath that promised a wealth of pain.

"He re-refused to sign. Said h-he'd rather die than betray his c-country." The man whimpered, his shaking becoming violent; the muscles doing a strange parody of the pain they knew they would soon experience. "W-we tortured him, of course, tried to break him, but he h-had a potion in one of the pockets of his robes. He, he swallowed it before we realised what it w-was… he, he's dead, My Lord. I'm sorry, so sorry. Forgive me, My Lord, have mercy; I tried, I, please, My Lord, please…"

"Silence!"

Utter stillness fell. Only the sound of his panted breaths, the wild thudding of his heart in his ears, and the menacing scrape-scrape sound of a giant snake slithering slowly closer to him prevailed. Somehow, the silence made it worse; it was the monster you knew was out in the darkness stalking you, but were utterly blind to see. Defenceless. Vulnerable. Only waiting for the pain.

The tone was quiet when he spoke, but somehow it held within it a tidal wave of incandescent rage. "You have failed me."

"P-p-please, My L-"

"_CRUCIO!"_

A ragged scream erupted within the room, charging at the walls in an attempt to escape. It failed; succeeding only in making the sound reverberate around the room, until an unholy choir of screams were united in one chilling orchestra.

And even then the screaming continued.

** 06:12:32 AM GMT**

"Eat up, Arthur," a plump woman encouraged, plonking a plate piled high with sausages, toast and beans before a red-headed man. "You're wasting away lately; it's all this stress at the Ministry. I keep saying they're putting too much pressure on you."

"It can't be helped," the man sighed. "I swear every day there's a new attack, something else to be cleaned up. They need everyone they've got – and Merlin knows we have precious few Ministry workers to rely upon at the moment." He poked tiredly at a lonely looking hash brown.

"Yes, well," she huffed, "they should at least give you extra pay for it!"

He smiled at his wife. "Chance would be a fine thing, love. You know what Scrimgeour's like; hoarding away Ministry funds like nobody's business. I can understand where he's coming from – no point in wasting money when we should save it for an emergency, after all. Still, I bet when the emergency does come along, he'll save it all for an even bigger one."

Molly stroked a hand through her husband's greying hair. "Just you look after yourself, Arthur. I can't lose you, not after… after-"

She broke off, as her lower lip wobbled threateningly, and made to turn away. Before she could withdraw her hand, however, she found it clasped in her husband's two larger ones. "We haven't lost him, Molly. You have to believe in that."

She nodded jerkily, clasping his hands back. "I do, I do, I mean… I try. It's just so hard, Arthur," she exclaimed emotionally, "the not knowing, the constant wondering whether he's okay, whether he needs me – whether he's going to stumble through that door one day injured and in pain!"

Arthur stood up and quickly took her into his arms, rocking her gently as she fought to regain control of herself inside the strength of his arms. "We can't give up, Molly. He's alive somewhere out there fighting for all of us – you should be so proud of him!"

"I am, Arthur, I am. But at the same time I want to grab hold of him and shake him and just shake him for doing this to us! It should be me out there, Arthur, me protecting him," she exclaimed heatedly, grabbing his arms as if they were her only handhold in a tilting world. More quietly, she added, "that's the way it should be."

"I know, love, I know," he murmured into her hair, as he held her close.

They stayed like that for a while; each seeking comfort in the closeness of the other; each praying for their missing child.

"It's been nearly nine months now," Molly whispered into his chest.

"I know," he whispered back. "I know."

** 06:28:06 AM GMT**

Deep within the confines of the Forbidden Forest, one lonely centaur raised his head skyward, and sighed at what he saw.

"The skies portend an evil great,

unless contested spreading hate.

Good must rear to fight again,

or bow down to He unnamed."

Hoof beats sounded behind him. "You understand the implications, brother?" asked a chestnut coated centaur, joining him.

"Indeed," returned the first. "Mars is bright tonight."

** 06:31:57 AM GMT**

"My Lord?" a hooded figure questioned, as he scurried as quickly as he could to kneel before the feet of the one he served.

"Remove this filth from my rooms," Lord Voldemort growled, gesturing dismissively at a shaking mound of robes in the corner of the room.

"Yes, My Lord," grunted the servant. Hauling the tortured follower to his feet, he dragged him from the room.

Alone, Lord Voldemort snarled in frustration at the thought of his worthless servants. Failure was not something he allowed within his ranks, and now the whole plan would have to be set back while they waited for the next-

Unless…

Something that may once have been called a smile prodded the corners of his contorted mouth. This may just work out in his favour…

After all, what better time to strike a killing blow to his enemies than when they were disorganised and panicked, made stupid through fear, with their defences thrown into chaos without their precious leader to unite them?

He would wait upon their reaction then, but all might not be lost after all…

** 06:40:53 AM GMT**

Deep within the protective arms of Hogwarts castle, Minerva McGonagall was dreaming. It was, however, a dream unlike any she had ever had before. She dreamed she was a phoenix, singing with all her heart to the inhabitants of her castle.

Uniquely beautiful, it was a song of warning and of forbearance. It was a song inspiring mercy, yet ordering ruthlessness when needed. It was a song suffused with protectiveness and love. A song to spread peace and promote triumph. It was a song to inspire hope, and yet caution that they must fight for such a precious commodity.

Dancing through the empty halls, her song spread, twirling around children asleep in their beds, waltzing past ghosts and pirouetting with finesse around a grouchy Mrs Norris. Yet while it left in its path a fluttering trail of hope, there was laced within the very fibres of that hope a dark well of sadness, fear and dread. Fear for the hearts of those it may never touch again. Dread for the health of the castle which housed them, and which was about to enter a fight for the lives of all it held dear, encased and enclosed within its protective walls. Most poignant of all, sadness for every life currently dwelling within this stronghold – for after the events of the day had run their bitter course, be it for good or for bad, these tiny, fragile lives would be irrevocably and inevitably changed.

Yet even as she knew all this, Minerva kept singing. Singing because, above all, her children needed to be prepared; they needed to know what they must face today, the pain they must endure. So her song went on and on, spiralling a crescendo inside the hearts of all she held dear. Gradually, Minerva found she had flown her way to her own rooms and now paused, hovering above her own sleeping form.

With a jolt, she came suddenly awake.

With a choked gasp, Minerva pushed back the heavy bedspread and snatched up her tartan dressing robe from the chair beside her bed. Hurrying down the curving staircase as fast as her aged feet would carry her, she gasped, "Albus?" breathlessly upon reaching the bottom.

A vacant office greeted her, mocking her with its emptiness and the feeble hope that she could now feel spluttering and dying within her.

Sighing, she wrapped her dressing robe tighter around herself and slowly sank into the chair behind her desk. She had been so sure that, for one glorious moment, he had done the impossible and returned to her. It hadn't seemed so foolish before – for a man she was so used to being surprised by, returning from the dead would not have been beyond the realms of possibility. Now, however, as she sat all alone in the office he had once presided over, the loss hit her harder than she could remember for quite a while.

Gazing out over the rolling expanse of land before her, Minerva wished, for perhaps the thousandth time since that fateful evening nearly a year ago, that things had happened differently. She wasn't supposed to be a leader. She was supposed to help bear the burden that Albus carried, offering advice and strength when his own failed him, but not carry it all alone.

Yet, the message in that dream had been clear – it was a warning. As much as she didn't want to assume the role of leader, she must, if she was going to save those entrusted to her.

Then again, it was only a dream; probably brought on by the stress of worrying over what You-Know-Who's plans were and when he would attack next. For Merlin's sake, to go charging about making plans over a silly little dream would make her as bad as Sybil! Perhaps it would be more prudent to wait – if something horrendous occurred, she would put more faith in the dream – but until then it was foolish to get working up over it.

Yes, Minerva McGonagall had always been a practical woman, and she wasn't about to lose that now.

** 06:56:24 AM GMT**

"Shaklebolt? Shaklebolt, where are you, man!"

Kingsley Shaklebolt hurried into his living room, pulling his robes over his head simultaneously. Kneeling down by his fireplace, he addressed the head of the man sitting there.

"What is it, Harold? What's happened?!"

The messenger gasped for breath, and then urgently addressed the Auror in front of him.

"It's the Minister, Sir. He's been murdered!"

** 06:59:58 AM GMT**

** 06:59:59 AM GMT**

** 07:00:00 AM GMT**


	2. Chapter 2

**07:00:00 AM GMT**

"Ronald!" exclaimed Hermione Granger for the fourth time in twenty minutes. "We've got a long day ahead of us - how many more times do I have to wake you up this morning?"

"At least once more," grumbled the boy in question, as he turned over and attempted to bury his head underneath his pillow.

The bushy-haired girl standing over him sent a scathing glare his way. It was remarkably ineffective, however, since the only part of Ron Weasley's anatomy still visible to the world, was the top of his tousled head. Sighing, Hermione wrenched the pillow from his grasp, ignoring the piteous moan he gave as she did so, and proceeded to beat him over the head with it.

"Up! Now!"

"Okay, okay, already," he grumbled, snatched the offending pillow back. Yawning he raised a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and then glared at the girl standing beside his bed.

"Well?" When she only looked back at him, nonplussed, he growled, "Go away so I can change!"

She sniffed, raised her chin, and stalked away from him. From the opposite bed, the sound of Harry's laughter drifted over to him; it did not improve his mood.

"You'd think she'd have learnt by now," Harry chuckled. "You two go through the same routine every morning.

**07:12:42 AM GMT**

Tonks looked bemusedly around her as she stepped out of the fireplace in the Ministry atrium. The place looked… panicked. That was the only word to describe it, really. Ministry workers were hurrying around, talking to each other in worried tones, all with the same look of fear plastered across their faces.

An ill feeling of foreboding growing inside of her, Tonks hurried off to the lifts which would take her to the Auror department.

The place was a hive of activity. She had to stop and just gape at the furore that seemed to have gripped everyone suddenly. Spotting Kingsley across the crowded room, she started making her way towards him. She hadn't taken more than three steps before somebody grabbed her arm.

"Ah, Nymphadora, good, good, you're here," Robards, her superior, said urgently. "You're on press control this morning – do whatever you need to, say whatever you must, but keep this from the headlines. We want to prevent a widespread panic for as long as possible."

Tonks, utterly confused, could only blink. "Sir? I don't understand! What's happened? What don't the press need to know?"

He stared at her for a minute. "You don't know? Where have you been this morning, Auror?"

When she started to colour, he shook his head. "It's not important. The Minister's dead – murdered, in fact."

Tonks gasped. "Death Eaters?"

"Who else, who else in these times?" Gawain Robards muttered sadly. "You understand the importance in keeping this quiet, I trust?"

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."

"Good. Then get to it. I'll require hourly updates – if this leaks to the press we'll need to know as soon as possible to contain the damage."

Feeling as if her morning had just done a complete about turn from looking pleasantly cheery, to an absolute disaster area, Tonks headed back down to the atrium.

**07:20:16 AM GMT**

The Headmistress rose to face the assembled faces of her staff. Taking a deep breath she prepared herself for the news she had to impart to them today.

"Thank you all for joining me here this morning – I apologise for the need to start you day even earlier than usual."

"Oh, nonsense, Minerva," piped up tiny Professor Flitwick, "We know you must have had a good reason. Why don't you enlighten us?"

"Very well," Minerva nodded succinctly. "The Minister was found murdered at his home this morning."

Ignoring the collected intake of breath and shocked gasps, she ploughed on. "The Dark Mark was found flying above his house, and it was that which alerted the Aurors. He appeared to have been tortured; tortured a great deal. However, Auror Kingsley Shakelbolt reported to me earlier this morning that there are unconfirmed suspicions that the Minister ended his own life – in essence preventing the Death Eaters from completing their objective."

She glanced around at them, noting the worry palpable on every face. Just as she would have suspected, Aurora Sinstra spoke up first, appearing to be the most composed.

"What can we take to be their objective? Could it be something more than the bloodthirsty whims of a Death Eater?"

Minerva sighed. "As of the moment, the Auror department is unsure whether this was anything more than the desire to torture the leader of our community. Obviously, once the general public hear of this it will have many consequences, any of which could have been the intent of You-Know-Who and his forces. The panic and fear caused by assassination of one of the most protected people in our community will lead to control issues – perhaps large scale emigration to other countries in Europe, which will have taxing demands on the Ministry, thus keep it occupied and away from pursuing the Dark Lord."

She took a deep breath, and maintaining eye-contact with her staff, continued. "Secondarily, unless we can install a substitute Minister quickly the Ministry is likely to suffer accordingly through lack of leadership, and organisation. Heads of Department are likely to begin taking unsanctioned actions in light of the lack of a Minster to authorize them. This may result in neglect of the civil and personal rights of our citizens and vast deviations from the constitution signed by the Ministry. Alternatively, and perhaps more worrying, Ministry procedure may grind to a halt, through fear, disorganization and confusion."

Minerva sat down wearily. "It is probably that these were You-Know-Who's primary aims, however, we cannot disregard the unsettling notion that he might have had a larger plan in mind."

Pomona, her hands knotted tightly in her lap, nevertheless raised her chin strongly and questioned, "So where do we go from here, Minerva?"

Her concern was echoed by murmuring and nodding of the rest of the staff. Minerva was once again hit with the unsettling thought that it shouldn't be her sitting her, feeling them put their trust in her hands. It should be her sitting one space to the right, there to support and encourage Albus; not enforce the plans herself. It was funny; she had supported Albus for so many years, and not once, not once in all those years had she realised the strain he had been under; the stress that resulted from having all these people rely solely on her for guidance, reassurance and belief that they would survive this crisis.

In that moment, Minerva found herself experiencing respect above any she had felt before towards the departed wizard. Yet, it was true that however confused and scared Albus must have felt during those times that she, and so many others, had looked to him - he had never let it show. Never once had she felt uneasy in placing her life in his hands, because never once had he let her see how much it affected him. And now… and now, it was time for her to do the same. She may not make a great leader, she may not even make a good leader, but by Merlin, she was going to do her best.

Squaring her shoulders, not letting an ounce of her nerves show, Minerva turned to face her colleague.

**07:34:04 AM GMT**

"So," Hermione began, sitting down crossed legged on the floor, and arranging a multitude of pieces of parchment, all covered with her scrawled notes, around her. "So far we've managed to find and destroy all but one of the Horcrux's."

The two boys sank down into position opposite her. "Right," agreed Harry, his face set in determination. "The locket, the ring, the diary, the cup, the sword, the bracelet – now we've only got the seventh one left."

"Which we're pretty sure," Ron chimed in, "from the number of guards he's got around the old place, that it's hidden in the Luzcrofith Mansion."

"It seems obvious," Hermione reasoned. "We've learnt that Voldemort attempted and completed some of his many transformations there, so it can be assumed that the mansion will have sentimental value to him."

Harry snorted darkly. "I don't believe Voldemort could be sentimental about anything! More likely he sees it as the stepping stone in his great ascension to world domination."

"Yes, well," Hermione continued, "that's probably more likely. It doesn't really matter – what's _important_ is that we think we have the hiding place of the seventh Horcrux."

"And after we destroy this one, then this bloody quest will finally be over," sighed Ron, anticipation lighting his eyes.

"Language Ron," Hermione admonished. "And no, it won't even be close to over."

Ron sat up indignantly. "Wha-"

"Because," Hermione interrupted, glaring at her red-headed friend. "We've then got to prepare Harry, and ourselves, to defeat Voldemort for good!"

"Woah, woah, woah," Harry interrupted, sitting up straighter and waving his arms between them. "We've had this conversation before; remember – after this one, you two go home. There's no way I'm taking you with me when I go to face Voldemort."

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend. "There's no way we're abandoning you, mate."

Hermione quickly clamped a hand over Harry's mouth as he opened it to argue. "End of story, Harry. We're staying with you, right until the end. There'll be discussion on that."

Her friend looked away, and she gave him the privacy to control himself.

"Anyway, we're getting off track. Now, Voldemort seems to have relied more on guards than wards for this Horcrux, so-"

"Why?" interrupted Ron. "Seems silly really – we've always found it easier getting past his guards, than through his wards."

"Yes, well, I suspect the Horcrux itself will be very heavily warded. The mansion, however, would attract too much attention if layer upon layers of protective wards surrounded it – especially as it's supposed to be empty. Voldemort wouldn't want the Ministry turning up to investigate it."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "and the guards were probably not always there – but by now I bet he's figured out we've been running around destroying his precious Horcruxes, and he's going to do anything he can to make sure we don't get to this one."

"Precisely," Hermione nodded, "which makes it even more important that we plan how to destroy this one very, very carefully. If we make a mistake now and you get killed, what we've achieved over the past nine months will be worthless anyway."

Ron blew out his breath sharply, and then sat up, face lined with determination. "Right then, where do we start?"

**07:49:21 AM GMT**

"Well, obviously the Ministry is not our concern," Minerva McGonagall swivelled to make sure everyone was paying attention. "We will aid them if they need our assistance, but first and foremost will always be this school."

"The student's will panic," interrupted Horace. "We should tell them before they find out from the papers."

"Precisely my thoughts," acknowledged the Headmistress. "I had already planned to make an announcement when we are all assembled for breakfast – and I shall look to each of the heads of houses," she paused to glance at Horace, Pomona, Filius and Septima Vector, the new Head of Gryffindor, who all nodded solemnly back at her, "to make sure they are available to any student who wishes to talk to them."

"Of course, of course," muttered Pomona, pushing a worried hand through hair that had somehow already managed to acquire a token from one of the stranger plants within her care. "I'll pop in and check on the Hufflepuff's immediately after breakfast – they do get themselves worked up sometimes, the poor dears."

"Good." Minerva nodded, satisfied. "Then there are other matters that need to be addressed. Firstly, we are likely to be owled by a large number of worried parents as soon as this news hits the headlines – which I imagine will not be long. I recommend that no student should be removed from these premises. Hogwarts remains one of the safest places in Britain, and students, and their parents, should be reminded of this fact."

She paused. "Are there any objections?"

None were uttered, so she continued. "Currently, we have no information which suggests this school will be a target in the near future; however, there is little wisdom in being sloppy simply because of a lack of relevant news."

"Hear, hear!" piped up Professor Flitwick. His squeaky cheer in the middle of such a serious speech made Minerva want to laugh for an instant; she had to remind herself about the propriety of her position and the gravity of the situation in order to remain calm.

"Precisely. I would like all teachers to start tightening defences in your relevant areas, and devising contingency plans in the event that this school does become a target. I will be conducting a sweep of all the wards around the school to ensure they are intact, and will enlist help to set up some additional protective defences. Heads of Houses; in particular look to your common rooms – all passwords should be changed, and students reminded to be vigilant at all times."

"Of course," agreed Septima, and the others nodded in agreement. "Anything else?"

"I believe any additional measures would only result in scaring the students. We have no need at the moment to fear an attack – therefore, I suggest that we take precautionary measures only at this stage. If, Merlin behold us, we have reason to believe Hogwarts to be in danger, I will immediately arrange for you all to be updated and we can discuss counter-defences at that point."

Septima nodded in concord, and Minerva felt a rush of relief that they all appeared to be submitting to her command admirably.

"Is there anything else anyone would like to add?" she questioned.

Again, no disagreements were raised. "Very well," she nodded, and smiled around at them. "Then I wish you all a good day. If you have any problems, suspicions or suggestions, please do not hesitate to seek me out."

When they had all filed out, muttering amongst themselves, Minerva collapsed back into her chair. Alien as it seemed, perhaps she could take on this mantle after all.

**07:58:00 AM GMT**

**07:59:00 AM GMT**

**08:00:00 AM GMT**


End file.
